


Take Off Your Pants And Jacket

by spacemonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Complete, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and Dean and Castiel finally find some time to themselves. Unfortunately for Dean, there are some complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Off Your Pants And Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt challenge way back in 2009, Season 4, with the prompt being:
> 
> Castiel is compared to a Ken doll because you can't get the underwear off either of them. Or you have to, you know, try really really hard.
> 
>  
> 
> ...There's a Men In Tights reference in there for some reason

It had all ended pretty badly, like Dean thought it probably would. There had been near deaths and some not so near – more actual, though Dean was finding it difficult to come up with any sort of sadness over Zachariah’s untimely demise. For some reason, he kept smiling – but after it was all said and done, Lucifer was dead, he was alive, Sam was alive despite those two hours where he was closer to dead that Dean just didn’t want to think about, and Bobby was still kicking. Castiel was both alive and awesome, despite the fact that he’d broken the rules to retrieve Sam from the whole “closer to dead” part that Dean really didn’t want to think about. Michael said it all evened out in the end, Gabriel agreed, and Zachariah was dead so his opinion was considered null and void, and Castiel walked off with barely more than a headshake and “younger brothers, what are you going to do?” from Michael. 

So despite the ending pretty badly, it had somehow ended pretty damn awesomely, and Dean thought that finally, _finally_ , he would be able to kick back, have a few beers, and fuck his angel. 

After all, he was pretty sure he’d earned it. And it wasn’t like God disapproved or anything. Well, he didn’t exactly approve, but Michael had said that he’d more shook his head and said, “Fuckin’ kids, huh?” 

There was a chance that Dean had made that last part up, but the less he tried to think about the big guy upstairs, the better. Really though, there had been a few fumbles in the dark here and there, a slip of the tongue, and Cas hadn’t complained yet. He’d seemed pretty eager in fact, and apparently Jimmy had become resigned to the fact that it was going to happen, full of irritated blessing, so sayeth the man himself, and that was approval enough for Dean. So he jumped in head first, and kicked Sam out of the hotel room.

“I thought we were gonna have some beers?” Sam said on the way out.

“Nope, tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday, depending on whether or not I get smited.”

“You just saved the world, I really doubt-”

“Or, you know, my head explodes from Castiel’s real voice or something.”

Sam paused, foot holding the door open. “Why would that happen?”

“I’m damn good in bed, Sammy; he probably won’t be able to control himself. I mean, could you?”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Dude.”

Dean shrugged, and kicked Sam’s foot out of the way. “See, if you’d left when I told you to, you never would have heard that. “ He smirked, slammed the door in Sam’s face, then added, “or gotten the mental picture.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to have beers with Sam. He did. Like, a million beers, and some shots, and maybe even a few round of karaoke, as long as it was Sam that was doing the singing. He wanted all that, because they _needed_ all that. They’d just saved the goddamn world, after all. 

But sex came before karaoke. Sam had even said it once, then muttered, “Everything comes before karaoke.” Dean remembered because it had been two hours before Sam had gotten up on stage, blind drunk, to sing a rousing rendition of Freebird, followed by a brotherly duet of I Got You, Babe that Dean tended to leave out when telling the karaoke story to everyone and anyone. Sam had insisted on being Sonny, and well. . .

It was the rule though. The Winchester rule, one of few, but it was there, and Dean knew Sam knew that following those rules was the number one rule in the Winchester family rule book. Or something.

Dean tidied up the room as much as he could, hiding Sam’s clown shoes underneath the bed, and even pulling up the covers. He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, considered going naked and then decided against it. It was Castiel’s first time, after all – he assumed, he _hoped_ – and Dean didn’t want to intimidate, or pressure an angel of the lord into rushing things if he wasn’t ready. The same angel of the lord that Dean had once witnessed walking straight into a room full of demons and _Lucifer_ while Sam and Dean lingered back and tried not to piss themselves.

Yeah. Dean figured it would be hard to intimidate the guy. 

He pulled on a pair of boxers and a black shirt, checked the time and sat down to wait another twelve minutes.

Castiel arrived fashionably late, and by that time, Dean had taken his shirt off and turned on the television. “It’s about damn time,” he growled. Castiel just smirked, something Sam insisted he’d learned from Dean, and for the first time ever, Dean didn’t feel proud for it. It was irritating when sex was involved. “You were meant to be here fifteen minutes ago. My hair is dry, that’s how long I’ve been waiting.”

“Raphael insisted we celebrate.”

Dean paused. “How the hell do angels celebrate? Harp music and cloud races? Don’t answer that.”

Castiel took a step forward, the smirk still there, and it wasn’t nearly as irritating as it had been twenty seconds beforehand. “I’m here now, Dean.”

“I can see that.”

“Sam is not.”

“I can see that too.” Dean smiled as Cas took another step, then a couple more, until his thighs were pressed flush against Dean’s knees. “Kicked him out myself.” He flicked off the television, not really wanting to watch another shitty Julia Roberts movie anyway, and tossed the remote onto Sam’s bed. Castiel’s gaze never left him and Dean had to do it, he reached up and grabbed Castiel’s blue tie, wrapping it around his hand like he’d wanted to for fucking months, and pulled him down. Maybe a bit too quick, but they made it work. 

Castiel kissed like someone who was still learning how, someone who was eager to learn, eager to do anything, and Dean liked that. Liked the way Castiel’s hand felt on his jaw, the way his tongue flicked and his teeth nipped, the way he tasted like nothing Dean had ever tasted before because he was a goddamn angel and didn’t have to taste like anything in existence, but it was fresh and different and pretty amazing. Dean especially liked the way the whole thing sent electric currents straight down to his dick.

He didn’t like when Castiel pulled away though, which he did all too soon. “Nooo,” Dean found himself groaning, like some lovesick moron who figured that kissing equalled oxygen which resulted in suffocation when mouths were not in contact. Or something. Maybe Dean really was that lovesick moron. Or the whole electrically charged dick thing was taking away his brain power. Either way, he was missing something vital that made his thoughts actual thoughts and not bullshit, and Dean figured Cas was to blame. He wanted to yell at Cas, but it didn’t work out that way. “Why?”

“Relax,” Castiel said, voice little more than a whisper, and then he dropped gracefully to his knees in front of the bed and Dean, and that was enough to short Dean’s brain out completely. He let go of Castiel’s tie when he was told to, lifted himself up to help when Cas slipped off his boxers, and groaned and whimpered and made all sorts of ridiculous porny noises when Cas engulfed him completely with his wet, hot and eager mouth. 

But it wasn’t until a handful of minutes later, when Dean had gone from prone to grabbing Castiel’s hair tightly and Cas had gripped his thigh hard enough to leave another fucking handprint, that Dean’s brain had switched back on like Sam’s laptop did, with a sudden brightness and start-up sound and everything. If Sam’s laptop sounded like a wet mouth against skin and moaning that could rival any bad porno movie, and Dean thought mindlessly that maybe he should record it all somehow and make that Sam’s start-up sound because it would be _hilarious_ , but then Castiel’s hand snaked from his thigh to his balls, and Dean caught eyes looking up at him, wide and so fucking blue, and it was enough to make him come like a motherfucker.

His brain stayed on this time, making the original switching off seem somewhat suspicious, and Dean cried out and shook, his leg jerking and his hand clenching in Castiel’s hair, and eventually it turned into a nice all over tingle and Dean laughed. Not just because it felt good, or because he’d ripped out a few of Castiel’s hairs, or even because he was sure that Castiel had whammied him before somehow – because who really shorted out their brain while having sex besides people in romance novels? – but because after all of that, all he could think was, “Who knew angels swallowed?”

Dean allowed himself a couple of minutes, eyes shut and forehead resting against Castiel’s shoulder while Cas ran a hand up and down his back and just breathed in his ear, and it was nice. So nice that he considered falling asleep there and letting Cas feel what it was like to have sore knees for once, kneeling there on the hard floor. But that wouldn’t have been fair. Or nice. Or what he’d set out to do.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was loud in his ear and Dean shot up straight, startling himself while Cas looked completely unruffled. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, looked down at himself, and then grinned. “Yeah. God damn, Cas. I mean, Jesus.”

Castiel thinned his lips slightly, and it took Dean a moment to figure out why. “I’m not saying sorry. You do something like that; you expect to get a bit of blasphemy in return.” Dean shrugged, looked Cas square in the eye and got something that was almost a smile in return. Not a smirk, a smile, and it was both one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, and some sort of a victory. Lips curling, white teeth flashing, completely and 100% utterly fucking hot. “Screw this noise,” Dean said, and grabbed Castiel by his shoulders.

It wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped, the old pulling Cas up onto the bed trick. Probably because his boxers were still pooled around his ankles, and that was bound to cause a few problems. Mostly because trying to move Castiel was like trying to move a tank. That was made out of solid gold. But they got there eventually, once Cas caught on and allowed himself to be yanked and pushed and arranged every which way. “I think I pulled a few muscles,” Dean grunted as he straightened Castiel out on the bed, making sure his head was pillowed comfortably on the questionable hotel pillow. 

“You’ve had worse,” said Castiel, but it was curious how he said it. Dean almost paused to figure out curious how exactly, but his brain was still there with him, shouting “what are you waiting for, dick?” so Dean went straight for Castiel’s belt instead. “Dean-”

“I’m better at taking off bras.” Dean grimaced as the belt got caught in one of the loops, and he tugged – hard. It nearly snapped him in the face as it came free, but Dean just grinned. “See? I’m managing.”

“Dean-”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Cas.” He flung the belt across the room like it was a champagne glass in the middle of a bad movie, then made quick work of Castiel’s zipper. “Well, you probably do, I guess. But I’m meant to say things like that. I think. It’s really-”

He stopped abrupt. The zipper was down, the pants were down, and he’d started on the black briefs he’d found under there. But a quick tug, then a more firm one resulted in nothing. Not even a budge. “Hot,” he finished, absently.

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Castiel offered.

“Huh?”

“To stop you.”

“Stop me?” Dean tore his eyes from the unmovable briefs up to Castiel’s face, which looked almost bashful. “By parroting my name a few times? Cas, you know you could send me to Mexico. Or something. That would be a more efficient way of stopping me.”

Castiel sighed and made a move to sit upright. To maybe leave. Out the door, without getting that blowjob Dean desperately wanted to give him. “Well, this isn’t gonna do,” he muttered to himself, then louder, “Wait.”

“What is it?” 

“No, I can do this.” Dean placed his palm onto Castiel’s chest and pushed him back onto the bed. “I mean, yeah I’ve made like a billion ken doll jokes, but they’re just jokes! We’re gonna do this, Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, and Dean _knew_ he had to have gotten that from Sammy. “Dean, this body remains chaste,” he said wearily.

“Chaste?” Dean snorted. “So, what, Jimmy found Claire in a manger somewhere?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean regretted them. Not because they could be considered blasphemous, but because he was straddling an angel. A goddamn angel. Anything was possible. “He didn’t, did he?”

Castiel lay quiet for a moment, looking like he was considering his words carefully, and looking sexy as hell while doing it. Dean gave the black briefs another pull, and nada. Castiel spoke then, a quiet, “As long as I remain in this body, it remains chaste.”

“And this is your rule?”

“It’s a rule we should follow.”

“Should,” Dean countered, a quick smile appearing. “Should, not have to.”

“Dean-”

“I mean, you’ve already broken like a million rules, hell you just had my dick in your mouth, not to mention what you swallowed.” Castiel smirked at that, and Dean mentally pumped his fist in the air. This was so going to go his way. “Why not break one more?”

“You are not going to succeed,” Castiel said simply.

“We even have Jimmy’s fucking blessing!”

“And yet he did not write this rule.”

Dean glared. No way was Castiel going to win this one. They’d gotten this far, they’d saved the fucking world, and he was missing out on seeing Sammy up on stage singing and making an ass of himself. Sure he’d gotten one hell of a blowjob, but what fun was it if you couldn’t return the favour. He wanted to see Castiel squirm. He wanted to see him fall apart. Dean bit his lip, looking down at Castiel, who looked back up with bright eyes and a curved mouth. No _way_ was Cas gonna win this one, not when he was looking like that. “I don’t take rejection well.”

“I am not rejecting you, Dean, I’m stating a fact.”

“So am I. I’m getting in there, even if it means,” he grinned, “I dunno, calling the locksmith or something. That’s a fact.”

He went for the briefs once more, both hands this time, scrabbling at the hem, trying to find a good angle to pull, and Castiel just lay there, frowning until Dean gave up, red faced and panting. “What good would a locksmith do?” Castiel asked finally, and Dean glowered at him.

“I bet Uriel would have seen Men In Tights,” he said darkly, before climbing off the bed and grabbing his cell. “You just sit tight,” he told Castiel, who rolled his eyes once more – fucking Sam – before folding his hands over his stomach. It would have looked dignified, had his pants not been looped around his ankles. “Yeah, just like that.” Dean hit speed dial, waited a few rings, then smiled when a gruff “yeah?” reached his ears.

Bobby would know what to do.


End file.
